


It wasn't Supposed to End Like This

by Seanbiggerstaffrox



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark, Death, Gen, Will's dead in this one, like spoiler but it's an important spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 11:37:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanbiggerstaffrox/pseuds/Seanbiggerstaffrox
Summary: Hannibal survives. Will doesn't. Hannibal doesn't deal with it well.





	It wasn't Supposed to End Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Title is thus bc this started as an a/b/o story and somehow ended this way. Sorry!

**November 24th  
Northern Canada**

Officer Meyers stands by the side of the lake, his breath coming out in clouds in the cold morning air. 

“They must have fallen from the cliff last night, sir.” Officer Hayes speaks up. 

Meyers looks up again, where the cliff face is. He knows there’s a cabin about a mile from the edge. He was at the cabin last night. 

“Any ID on the victim?” He asks. 

“Which one?” Hayes asks. 

Meyers looks over toward the medics. They shift to the side, revealing two bodies. One had died last night. The other one….

“Which one do you think, Hayes?” Meyers replies, a bite to his tone. 

~~~~~*~~~~~~

**1 month earlier**

They weren’t meant to survive the fall. Hannibal knows as much. He can feel the tender resistance Will puts up as he pulls the empath to shore. A quiet “no” slips from Will’s lips, and the man tries to pull them back in the sea again. Behind the haze of pain and sickness, Hannibal sees determination sparkle, and for the briefest second is tempted to grant Will’s wish. He would grant all of Will’s wishes if he could, and yet he denies him in this. 

He keeps Will down, holding him into the dirt as if drowning him in oxygen rather than granting the release of salt water, until Will passes out. He sits next to the fallen man, waiting for Chiyoh to come. He can be patient in this. Their situation is not so dire as to not allow for that. 

Will is sleeping beside him and Hannibal studies his face as he presses down on his own gunshot wound, stifling the blood enough for now. It’s a time for solace, a time for pensive reflection as the sun starts to poke up over the ocean. There was a time, Hannibal muses, when he would have found the sight of a lifeless Will gratifying, beautiful even. The consumption of him glorious. But now…

Hannibal was not a savior- it went against his programming, his instincts. It was anathema. Hannibal had never thought to actually try and save anyone. And yet…

Hannibal’s fingers shake, his chest aching with a curious sort of sorrow as his mind turns everything over. Will had not meant for them to live. Will had tried to kill them - tried to kill himself - and it fills Hannibal with the most immense grief as he pictures Will in such a state - cold, lifeless, breathless. How had he once fantasized of bleeding the light from this man’s eyes? Seeing it now, his mind conjuring the cruel image, almost has Hannibal heading into the water, as though he can join this phantom Will in his fate. If it weren’t for the light off of Chiyoh’s boat, he very well might have. But the poetry of the moment has gone and help has arrived, and Hannibal gives into the cowardice of survival. 

~~~~~*~~~~~~

It takes a week of sailing, convalescing, and treatment before Will and Hannibal are well enough to leave Chiyoh and take refuge in Northern Canada. They still haven’t talked. They’ve barely glanced at each other, though whenever Hannibal gives into the urge, he finds Will with the most somber, withdrawn expression. Perhaps it's a punishment to make Hannibal regret saving him, but if so, Will's underestimated the depth of Hannibal’s regard for him. There's nothing that could make Hannibal regret it. Hannibal thinks, in all truth, that even if Will took a knife to his throat and dug the blade in deep, Hannibal would still be incapable of regretting his allegiance to the man. 

Hannibal knows, however, that the chasm of space between them won't be healed easily. This is earnestly felt only a few days after they settle into the cabin, when Will remarks “Has someone been rude to you already?” upon seeing Hannibal heading outside with an axe. 

“I’m off to chop firewood. Winter will start soon and we’ll need more heat than the furnace can provide.” Hannibal replies, an ache in his chest at the disdain shimmering in Will’s eyes. 

Will hums, his arms crossed and his lip curling. “Naturally. How could I think otherwise?”

Hannibal sighs and moves to leave when Will stops him. 

“Oh, and Hannibal?” His face isn’t so stony anymore, the expression fracturing around the edges at the distress in his gaze. “It’s a small town. We’re bound to get noticed. Maybe you should concern yourself with your own manners from here on out?”

“Very well.” Hannibal says, inclining his head in acquiescence. In truth, he hadn’t planned to resume hunting again, somehow feeling that the door on that closed when Will had thrown them both into the Atlantic ocean. Hannibal will just have to occupy himself some other way. He chops the wood a little more severely than he needs to, but it helps. 

~~~~~*~~~~~~

“Are you alright, Will?” Hannibal asks. For the third night in a row, Will’s barely picked at his dinner. Hannibal knows the food isn’t of poor quality, so he wonders if Will’s sick. The man does look awfully pale. 

“Yes, Hannibal.” Will says, polite, distant. 

“Is your appetite poor?” Hannibal asks. 

“I find I’ve lost my taste for red meat.” Will mentions casually. It cuts to the core, but isn’t undeserved. Hannibal would be a ridiculous man if he claimed reference to his prior...activities…, especially when one considered their nature, hurt his feelings. 

“I see.” Hannibal says. They have some nice fish in the freezer that he’d been saving for when it was more scarce, but Hannibal thinks of it idly as he gathers their plates. He walks casually into the kitchen, whereupon he deposits the plates in the sink and then grips at the counter, closing his eyes for the briefest of seconds. His knuckles go white from his grip on the granite and he breathes in, quick and short, through his nostrils. 

“Hannibal?” 

The voice soothes and distresses in kind. 

“Hannibal, look at me.” 

Hannibal turns, unwilling to deny Will in anything. There’s a lurch in him when he sees Will for the briefest of moments in a state of decay Hannibal is not unfamiliar with, but finds entirely unwelcome on Will’s form. His skin is purplish-white and bloated. His eyes have glazed over and his mouth hangs, skin loosening around the lips. Flies buzz, numerous and deafening around him. 

A split second later and Will’s gazing at him, a curious expression on his face. “Hannibal?” The man asks, his skin aglow again, if still a bit pale. 

“I was thinking, fish tomorrow?”

Will quirks his lips slightly, the smallest reprieve from their stalemate appearing as the briefest of smiles on his face. “Sounds delicious.” 

Hannibal nods, turning to roll his sleeves up and begin on the cleaning. 

“We really should do something about these flies.” Will observes, causing Hannibal to stiffen. “You’re not keeping any bodies around here, are you?” Will asks, a wry bit of humor in his voice that has Hannibal turning, a furrow to his brow. 

“When would I have procured one?” Hannibal asks, seeing the disdain back in Will’s expression. 

“When indeed.” Will says. He’s cold. He’s always so cold now. 

Hannibal turns around, leaving his back to the man and focusing on the task at hand. 

~~~~~*~~~~~~

They live like this. Cold. Distant. Alone. Lonely. Until one day in November when the police come. 

Will’s in a foul mood when they answer the door. He’s grown more and more foul these days, but Hannibal won’t leave him, can’t leave him. 

“Hello officers.” Hannibal greets, striving for pleasant despite Will’s snipping behind him. 

“Hello.” The junior of them greets. “We weren’t actually sure someone lived up here.” He says with a small chuckle. 

“There’s a storm approaching tonight. We came to check that everyone was prepared. It’ll hit hardest up in the mountains.” The senior of them explains. 

“Is it just you?” Junior says. 

“Me and my…” Hannibal trails off. He glances back toward the kitchen. “Friend.” He says, for lack of a better word. He opens the door a bit further, revealing Will to the officers, who have no doubt been wondering who had been grumbling about them in the background. 

“Perfect.” Will murmurs, glaring from the kitchen. It’s his favourite spot these days. 

“Oh….” Junior breathes. When Hannibal turns, Senior’s got his hand on Junior’s shoulder, smiling uncertainly at Hannibal. 

“I see. And you have everything you need?” 

Junior’s hand is fiddling with his walkie talkie and Hannibal narrows his eyes, briefly entertaining if he should invite them in for supper. 

“Mind your manners, Hannibal.” Will snarls from the kitchen. “You catch more flies with honey.” 

The flies. They buzz so loudly lately. 

“We’ll be fine.” Hannibal says, striving for kindness. He dismisses the officers quickly and closes the door. 

He’s tense for an hour, but the officers don’t come back, and when he checks outside again, the snow’s filled in where their tracks had been. They won’t be coming back soon, anyway, not with the storm coming. 

Hannibal’s playing a game of chess with Will by the fire when the man speaks. 

“You think they recognized us?” Will asks. He looks pale again and cold. He’s always so cold. Hannibal gets up to add another log to the fire. 

“I doubt it.” Hannibal says. 

“Perhaps it’d be better if they did.” Will observes casually. Hannibal turns quickly, his eyes narrow. 

“Will?”

Will looks up at him, face devoid of the empathy that had once shown so clear. “You know you deserve to rot, Hannibal. We both do.” 

“No, Will.” Hannibal protests, coming back to the man. He grasps Will’s hand in his, rubbing the skin to try and bleed some warmth into it. 

Will doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t touch him in return. “You should have died that day.” 

“No, Will.” Hannibal whines again, his eyes prickling. There's anguish in his chest, the month of horrid loneliness taking it’s toll on him as he gazes at the man he loves so dearly. 

“You’re a coward, Hannibal.” Will repeats. “A coward who can never escape his true nature.” 

There’s a knock on the door, but Hannibal can’t look away, can’t shake Will’s hate. 

“What now, Hannibal?” Will says, tone derisive. “Do we run again? You like running, don’t you?”

The knock comes, more insistently this time, and Dr. Lector’s fake name is called through the wood. 

“I didn’t think monsters got scared. But you got scared and you left me, Hannibal!” Will shouts, the anger in his voice rattling Hannibal to his bones. 

“No…” Hannibal protests, weakly. 

“You should have died.” Will repeats. 

They’re trying to break the door down now. Hannibal grabs Will, hauling him from the table and out the back door, into the eye of the storm. He runs, breathing heavily already from fear but filled with the determination to do it right this time. 

~~~~~*~~~~~~  
 **November 24th  
Northern Canada**

“Drowned, sir.” The medical examiner speaks up. 

“Both of them?” Meyers asks, looking down at the two bodies. 

“It would appear so.” The medical examiner says. “But…” 

“But?”

“Well...I’ll know more when I get him on the slab.” The examiner nods down at the body with brown hair. It’s a horrid sight, rotten beyond any human recognition. At least the water washed some of the maggots off. 

“Out with it.” Meyers spits. 

“It appears this one,” The examiner nods at the brunette again. “Has been…”

“Has been what?” Meyers strives for calm but is quickly losing it. 

“It appears that some of his organs have been harvested, sir.” 

Meyers eyebrows raise.


End file.
